<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>And They Were Quarantined, Oh My God, They Were Quarantined by orphan_account</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354551">And They Were Quarantined, Oh My God, They Were Quarantined</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Creepypasta - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AFAB Chara (Undertale), Ben Has Aquaphobia, Ben and Chara are both traumatized kids trying to be functional adults, Chara (Undertale) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Chara Has Food Insecurity, Chara Has Regualar Insecurity Too, Chara Uses They/Them Prounouns, Crack Crossover, Crack Relationships, Fluff and Angst, Good Chara (Undertale), Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Magic-User Chara (Undertale), Nice Chara (Undertale), Nonbinary Chara (Undertale), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Protective Ben, Protective Chara (Undertale), Reader is Chara (Undertale), Soft Chara (Undertale), Trauma, quarantine au, the kids aren't alright</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:15:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354551</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes... weird ships pop into your head. And then you get three million different ideas for fics and AUs about them and get weirdly passionate about the ship. And then you write one and post it to ao3.</p>
<p>Chara Dreemurr is having difficulty adjusting to the surface again, and to living again. An unfortunately human youtuber with a particular attachment to video games might help them cope.<br/>Ben Erman is having difficulty with the state of his life at the moment. A twice-undead human who can wield magic like a monster might spice up his life a little.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chara Dreemurr/BEN (BEN Drowned)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Quarantine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You jerk awake in the darkness, heart pounding like you'd run a marathon, tense and sweating. It takes you a moment to gather your wits; you're not in your room, but you know the room you're in. You're not wearing any clothes, but you'd taken them off willingly earlier. You're not alone in the bed, but you… you do trust the person you're with.
</p><p>Ben always sleeps lightly. It shouldn't have made you jump when you felt his hand come to gently rest on your hip, but to his credit he retrieves it when he feels you start.
</p><p>"You okay, boo?" he asks, his voice thick with sleep.
</p>
<p><i>Go, Chara, run!</i> Your mother screams from your memory. <i>Don't look back!</i>
</p><p>"Yeah," you lie. "What time is it?"
</p><p>You hear him shuffle behind you, and then the light from his phone screen illuminates the room ever so slightly. "A little after 4 A.M."
</p><p>"Shit," you groan, and drag your hand down your face. "My mom's gonna be up soon. I have to go."
</p><p>"I might as well get up too," Ben says into his hands as he arches his back, stretching. "It's later than you usually stay. No point in going back to bed after this."
</p><p>"Sorry," you tell him, peeling the covers off your body. He'd cleaned you up with a warm, damp rag earlier, but you really need an actual shower before you leave. "I was more tired than I thought."
</p><p>"Mm," Ben replies noncommittally. You can feel his eyes on you as you gather your clothes from the floor. "I'll have something made for you when you come out."
</p><p>"You don't have to," you tell him quickly. He knows your routine. "I can just grab a pop tart or something like normal."
</p><p>"Yeah well normally I'm asleep again by now. I'd prefer to make you something to eat before you leave every time." Ben's pretty blue eyes almost bore into you. Though he's nothing like Frisk or Azzy or your mother, his gaze has the same effect; you don't deserve the genuine affection and care that any of them show you, and you know it.
</p><p>"Really," you say as you back out of the room. "It's fine."
</p><p>You know he'll have made something anyway, even if it's as simple as reheating last night's pizza. He likes to take care of you. It's why you come to him three nights out of the week in the first place.
</p><p>Ben's shower is clean, probably because he spends as little time in it as he possibly can. He didn't even have conditioner when you two first started… whatever this was, until you'd badgered him into it. You'd since felt the difference in his hair, softer when you cling to it and rake your nails up his back. He'd asked if you wanted him to pick up shower stuff for you, but you'd declined. You'd never verbalize it, but you like using his products and smelling like him when you go home.
</p><p>You're dressed in the same clothes you showed up in when you come out of the bathroom; a soft cotton black button-up, your gray blazer, jean capris dyed purple that have buttercups you'd embroidered on the left thigh. Ben's standing in front of the stove in his kitchen, flipping a chocolate-chip pancake. Damn him.
</p><p>He grins when you wrap your arms around him, you can hear it in his voice when he speaks. "Hungry?"
</p><p>You're not, your earlier nightmare made your stomach twist and the nausea still hasn't fully faded, but he went through the trouble of actually cooking you a breakfast, and something aches inside of you to think of just throwing that away. "I could take a couple to go, please."
</p><p>"Comin' right up," he replies, cheerful in his laid-back kind of way. You wonder how he can be so productive so early as he slides from your embrace. "I'll grab a paper towel for you."
</p><p>You hum and nod, not that he's looking at you, and lean against the counter. Your body aches. Not from the stress you'd been carrying for the past few days—that's also why you come to him—but from the activities you'd been up to only hours before. Your hips are sore, and the bruises where he'd dug his fingers into your thighs are tender. He's always careful to mark you where no one else would see, just as you'd asked.
</p><p>"Uh, Chara?" Ben says from the other side of the kitchen. "I don't think 'to go' is gonna be an option."
</p><p>His voice draws you in, opening your eyes and looking where he's looking. You hadn't even noticed the TV on, as low a volume as he'd put it on, but even from your position by the counter you can see the words scrolling across the screen.
</p><p><i>Quarantine effective immediately…</i>
</p><p>The scent of burning pancake fills your nose.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your mother calls you ten minutes after five, just after the time at which she <i>still</i> wakes up, though school has been closed for three weeks.</p><p>"Chara?" She asks, her voice urgent. "Chara, my child, where are you?!"
</p><p>"I'm okay, Mom," you tell her. "I'm with a friend."
</p><p>"With a friend? Chara, the city's been quarantined, there is no way for you to get home!"
</p><p>"I know." Your mouth tastes sour. "I saw the news."
</p><p>There's a pause as you mother processes what you're saying.
</p><p>"Why are you at a friend's house at this hour?" Toriel asks you.
</p><p>You glance at Ben, who unhelpfully grins at you and waggles his eyebrows. What are you supposed to say? <i>Well you see, Mom, you know how I hate humans? Well I met the one remaining good one in the world and immediately jumped into bed with him and have now been seeing him three times a week, every week, for the last six months, because he makes me feel safe in a way that you, my family, never have and likely never will, though you still make me feel safe in a completely different way.</i>
</p><p>"He had a nightmare," you chose to say instead, lying through your teeth. "I couldn't sleep anyway. I meant to be home sooner but we fell asleep."
</p><p>"I see." Toriel pauses again. You can feel your heart rate spike with each second that passes without her saying anything. "And this friend… what are they like?"
</p><p>Were you facing off against her right now your expression would be carefully schooled into neutrality, and you'd roll your eyes when you answered. As it was you were on the phone with her, so you only need to make your voice sound like you were unphased and rolling your eyes. "Do you really think I'd waste my time on someone who wasn't worth it?"
</p><p>"No, dear, I do not, only…" Toriel pauses again. Your arms itch. "Only, you haven't mentioned this person before."
</p><p>"Am I obligated to tell you every detail of my life?" You deflect. "Yesterday I woke up, played on my phone for a half hour, took a shower, straightened my hair, did some knitting, got dressed—"
</p><p>"Oh, Chara," your mother sighs. "You know that is not what I meant."
</p><p>You shrug, though she can't see it. "It just never seemed important."
</p><p>That's a lie that's a lie <i>that's a lie</i>, Ben is <i>so</i> important, and you try to tell him so with your eyes, but he isn't paying attention anymore and probably hasn't been for the last few minutes. You would have taken him to meet your parents, except as soon as you two had gotten truly comfortable with each other you'd started sleeping together, and no one who's seen you naked is allowed to talk to your parents. Unless you're dating them, but then that's sort of mandatory. And you and Ben aren't dating.
</p><p>"Well…" Toriel sighs again. "Are you safe with your friend?"
</p><p>"I am." You assure her. She knows you could kill a man with your bare hands, not even speaking of the knife you keep on or near you at all times or the magic you can wield, but she also knows that the greatest threats to your well-being aren't always external.
</p><p>"And you don't feel feverish? Or short of breath?"
</p><p>"And neither of us are coughing, but if that changes we'll head to the nearest hospital."
</p><p>"Okay." She seems satisfied. "Then I shall let you go, my child. Call often, please. We do not know how long this quarantine will last."
</p><p>She hangs up without saying goodbye—most monsters don't, not over the phone—and relief slumps you over the table.
</p><p>"You good, boo?" Ben asks, reaching across the wood to take your hand.
</p><p>"Yeah," you breathe. "That call went way better than I hoped it would."
</p><p>"Good." His thumb rubs across your knuckles. A few weeks ago the action would have raised your hackles, but you've been getting steadily more used to non-sexual affection from him. You still feel your armpits tingle from the adrenaline making you sweat, but you grip his hand tighter. <i>You want this.</i> You just have to be okay with actually receiving it. You have to get used to it.
</p><p>After you feel an adequate amount of time has passed, you take your hand back and lean against the back of your chair. "So what's the plan from here?"
</p><p>Ben folds his hands behind his head and smirks his usual smirk. You catch his clear blue eyes look you up and down before meeting your own ruby-hued ones, and his nose crinkles when he grins. "We could fuck."
</p><p>You're seriously tempted by the offer, but you answer with a speed and a coolness that doesn't betray you. You're good at hiding your true emotions, same as he is. "Aren't we supposed to stick to routine in quarantine?"
</p><p>Ben shrugs, not seeming put out by your swift refusal.
</p><p>"Yeah, but it would just be you sitting around bored while I record and edit, you know? I don't wanna leave you alone."
</p><p>You shrug in reply. "You've got Netflix and Crunchyroll and Disney Plus. I'll be fine."
</p><p>Ben stares at you for a while. You fail to smother a yawn as he does, and he averts his attention from you to check the time on his phone.
</p><p>"I'm gonna change the sheets," he says, standing up from the dining table, "and then you're gonna go back to bed."
</p><p>You go to protest, but he raises an eyebrow at you—still with that unshakeable smirk—and you cross your arms, sulking, battling furiously with your own face to minimize the creeping flush you can feel heating your cheeks. You wait, obediently, until he comes to get you, and then you strip down and climb into his bed. He turns the lights out and leaves you to try to fall back to sleep.
</p><p>The sheets don't smell like him, but they do smell like the hoodie he told you to steal from his closet about a month back when it was way colder than either of you had expected it to be outside when you tried to go home.
</p><p>You still hadn't given that back yet. It's long since lost any trace of a scent you associate with Ben, but you still like to put it on over your pajamas.
</p><p>Not that you would ever tell him.
</p><p>Sleep comes easier to you than you would expect it to, and you drift off.
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Struggle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You wake from your mercifully dreamless sleep at about noon, when your stomach makes it very clear that it refuses to be without sustenance any longer.
</p><p>The house is quiet as you get up. You suspect Ben is keeping the volume down for your sake. You should go let him know that you're up, now, so he can do whatever, but… you can't find your clothes.
</p><p>You left them right there, on the floor next to the bed, but they're not there. Or under the bed. or anywhere.
</p><p>You sigh impatiently and just grab the blanket off Ben's bed, wrapping it around yourself like a toga. He'd probably done something with them so he could see you naked, he'll give them back when you ask.
</p><p>Ben has a room in his house specifically for recording. You've never been in it—you've actually barely spent time in any room of the house that wasn't his bedroom—but you've seen his videos, and he'd pointed it out to you once, so you know where to go.
</p><p>The door is cracked open, so you push it all the way open and wait in the doorway for Ben to notice you. His headphones are on and he's clicking and typing—editing, you realize.
</p><p>"Greetings, hero," you say, wondering if your casual tone is loud enough to catch his attention.
</p><p>Ben actually looks up and grins at you. "Oo, am I gonna get to unwrap a present?"
</p><p>"If I let you, will you tell me where my clothes are?" You raise an eyebrow, but you hope he can see that you're teasing.
</p><p>Ben blinks and then laughs. "Oh, right, my bad, I threw them in the washer. I thought you'd still be out by the time they were done. Figured since they're your only clothes right now you'd want 'em clean."
</p><p>"Fuck," you scowl, more at the circumstances than at his consideration.</p><p>"Just throw on something of mine," Ben shrugged and turned back down to his screen. "You're gonna be here for a month at the very least, we'd have gotten to this point eventually."
</p><p>He has a point, and it is really the only option. You can't hang around wrapped in a blanket until your clothes come out of the dryer. Well, you can, but it would severely limit your mobility.
</p><p>You head back to Ben's room and root through his drawers for something halfway presentable. You already knew he owned more Zelda shirts than regular t-shirts, but this is almost ridiculous. You throw on the only one you can find—a normal black cotton shirt, nothing fancy or significant—and a pair of his boxers, and then try to put on a pair of his shorts.
</p><p>They refuse to button.
</p><p>Ben isn't much taller than you, or much wider that you, so why—are your hips really that much wider than his? You'd never really felt dysphoric before, just the absent wish for a flat chest that your binder granted when it arose, and that isn't what this is, you don't think, but this almost feels <i>wrong.</i>
</p><p>You forgo the jorts entirely. T-shirt and boxers for you.
</p><p>You figure since it's roughly the middle of the day it's probably time for lunch, and head to the kitchen. You'll make something for Ben and yourself, be a good housemate. You're not bad at cooking.
</p><p>In the kitchen there are no leftover pancakes, so you assume Ben must have eaten them after you went back to sleep. He has the appetite and the diet <s>and the sex drive</s> of a teenage boy, so it's not too much of a surprise. You'd already been heading to the pantry when you noticed.
</p><p>The pantry is… almost empty. Not quite. There's a few packs of ramen, some canned fruits and veggies, half a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter with the label torn off to show you it's only half full.
</p><p>The pantry at home never gets this barren. You can't remember the last time you'd seen so little food in the house.
</p><p><i>Except you do.</i>
</p><p>The sight jettisons you back into your childhood, with your parents both at work out of town because no one in town will hire them <s>because of you</s>, back into taking care of your six younger siblings and your meals being bites stolen from their plates here and there because there's not enough for all seven of you and both your parents, not when the town inflates their prices for your family specifically <s>because of you</s>, back into stealing clipping from fruit trees and bushes and gardens to try and coax them into rooting in your backyard so you don't have to worry as much about food but no matter how green your thumb is the soil's all wrong and nothing will grow.
</p><p>You squeeze your eyes shut and grip the doorway of the pantry. The wood is too smooth to splinter but you wish it would, just to have something to help distract you from your spiralling as you take deep breaths. Your arms itch.
</p><p>You inhale for four seconds, filling your lungs completely. You hold that breath for seven seconds, or try too, but you always end up counting heartbeats rather than seconds. You exhale for eight seconds, making a hissing sound as you try to hold the air back to make it last that long. You repeat the process until your heart slows and your head clears.
</p><p>You make Ben a pack of ramen and throw in a can of corn and a can of peas because you know he doesn't eat too well of his own volition.
</p><p>You make a slice of toast for yourself, lightly buttered.
</p><p>He's still editing when you bring his bowl to him, his signature carefree expression completely abandoned in the midst of his concentration. He looks different without the smirk; somehow older and younger at the same time. He's sterner, but that lusty spark is gone with the smirk. It's in the same vein as the face he wears when he's sleeping.
</p><p><s>You like that expression second best, when he looks so relaxed and vulnerable and finally calm. You get to see that face the least; he always falls asleep after you and wakes up as soon as you start moving around to get up.</s>
</p><p>"Hey," you announce yourself, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Ben's head spans up, his pretty blue eyes meeting yours instantly, and his serious expression melts into a smile and then into his smirk. "I made lunch."
</p><p>"You're an angel," Ben tells you, and your barely-filled stomach flips. You'd heard those words so many times so long ago, but now they were only directed towards Frisk. You hadn't realized you'd missed the endearment until now. "I'm surprised you found anything. I was planning to get groceries tomorrow, but I guess I should get them tonight if you're gonna be with me. They can't stop me from getting groceries, right? Have you eaten yet?"
</p><p>You nod, and it's the truth, but you feel like you're lying as he takes the bowl from you and rolls his chair further from his electronics to eat.
</p><p>"I'm just gonna finish up here and then I'll head out. I don't think I should bring you with me, it's better if there's just one of us if we've already been exposed."
</p><p>You nod again, not particularly eager to go out anyway, leaning against the sound proofing of his wall. You're suddenly fatigued; your fingers twitch for yarn, or soil, or keys, but Ben doesn't have a garden or piano or knitting supplies.
</p><p>"I'll start a show or something," you tell him. You hope it'll distract you from your… today.
</p><p>You don't want him to see you like this. You had good days and bad days and lately the days had been more good than bad, but this was a bad day. Usually if a bad day fell on a day where you met him it didn't matter; he'd fuck you and care for you and let you leave as soon as you were willing to get up and it wasn't too different than a good day. But you only really agree to hang out with him on good days, or meh days, specifically because you don't want to force him to deal with you on bad days.
</p><p>Ben has been talking this whole time and you didn't notice. Fuck. You think he's recommending shows, so you nod and hum noncommittally, but now you're only thinking of bailing and curling up on the couch and fading into nothingness. When he finishes talking you leave, silently berating yourself, and do exactly that.
</p><p>Well, sans the "fade into nothingness". That hasn't happened since about five years ago, when Frisk fell onto your grave and woke you up.
</p><p>Perhaps it was longer. It sure feels longer than that, but you know it's from the endless cycle of resets until they were finally able to free your soul—
</p><p>You don't want to follow that line of thought. It would leave you worked up all day. You focus on the TV, wondering what the fuck you put on, and zone out until you hear the front door close behind Ben.
</p><p>Only then, when you're finally alone, do you allow yourself the luxury of crying.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Yarn and Smiles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You're long finished crying, venting excess emotion, and have calmed and somewhat recovered when Ben comes home.
</p>
<p>You don't notice him, at first, engrossed in Friends—which was ancient even when you were an adolescent—until you're bombarded with seemingly a thousand rolls of yarn.
</p>
<p>Your heart leaps out of your chest and your magic nearly jumps to your defense as you fall off the couch, but Ben's teasing triumphant face looms into your field of vision and you relax.
</p>
<p>"You bastard," you spit, not nearly as venomously as you'd like, "You scared me. I nearly killed you."
</p>
<p>"That would be a shitty way to repay me for your present," Ben wrinkles his nose teasingly at you. For a split second you wonder, what present? and then you remember the yarn burying you.
</p>
<p>You push yourself into a sitting position to observe the mound that has formed around you. Yarn in a plethora of colors and textures surround you.
</p>
<p>All at once, you feel like crying again.
</p>
<p>"You got all this for me?" you ask, soft and vulnerable, as you reach out for a soft red yarn.
</p>
<p>A pack of knitting needles in different sizes land in your lap.
</p>
<p>"I got you some sewing and embroidering stuff too," Ben tells you. "They're still in the kitchen though, I'll get 'em to you when I put the actual food away."
</p>
<p>"I can help," you offer, worming your fingers into the needle packet already but willing to stop should he accept.
</p>
<p>"You don't know where anything goes," Ben sticks his tongue out at you. "You've been stressed all day. Indulge. Make me a scarf."
</p>
<p><i>A scarf</i>. You want to scoff as he leaves, but that'll give you away. You'll make something much better than a scarf.
</p>
<p>You lose track of time, crafting squares in shades of green and listening to Friends. It's not until a steaming plate of food lands on the coffee table before you that you notice how late it's gotten. The poor kid inside of you whines at the idea that Ben would waste food on you. The hunger inside of you tells them to shut the fuck up.
</p>
<p>"I'm okay," you tell Ben, shaking your head slightly and continuing to knit.
</p>
<p>"No you're not," Ben sits beside you with his own plate. It's kielbasa and rice. You remember, vaguely, telling him a few months ago that it was your favorite and how to make it in case he wanted to try it. Something in your heart twinges, like a key hit unexpectedly while composing that actually doesn't sound too bad. The opposite of a sour note.
</p>
<p>Ben continues; "I saw your face at lunch. You need to eat, boo."
</p>
<p>Ah, fuck. You're caught. And just in time for your stomach to growl voraciously, too.
</p>
<p>You shoot him a sheepish grin and set aside your knitting.
</p>
<p><i>God</i>, you've missed kielbasa and rice. Toriel doesn't make human food often; she'd never had the supplies to make kielbasa and rice underground, and though she'd added it to the repertoire since reaching the surface, it wasn't often that you had it.
</p>
<p>It's a simple recipe; a box of brown rice, a bag of frozen corn, a kielbasa sliced into halves, all boiled together to infuse the rice with the flavor of the other two. It used to feed you and all your siblings. It tasted like home and a full stomach.
</p>
<p>You find yourself snuggling into Ben's side as you eat, and find him leaning into you too, and maybe it's too affectionate for "just friends who fuck" but god damn it you need some affection right now. You convince yourself to go back for seconds, thirds, and fourths even after you're not hungry, just so you can taste it and because you had no breakfast and a single toast for lunch and need to eat. By the time you're finished eating there's enough leftovers for exactly one meal, and you remind yourself that Ben just went grocery shopping and it's only you two in the house and you don't have to feel bad that you ate so much. You thought you were over this.
</p>
<p>Then you remind yourself that healing isn't linear and sometimes you'll have difficulty and it doesn't mean you're not healing and you put away the leftovers and go back into the living room.
</p>
<p>Ben's switched off the TV and is stretching, his t-shirt lifting up to show a bit of his Adonis belt disappearing into his jorts. He's not particularly muscular—he never gets off of his games, after all, he does that for a living—but he's got a high metabolism like you do and seems genetically inclined towards a muscular build, <i>unlike</i> you. You work hard for your muscles.
</p>
<p>"You want me to set up the guest room for you?" He asks. You realize you've been staring into the hall.
</p>
<p>"Oh," you say eloquently. "Okay, I guess."
</p>
<p>Ben raises an eyebrow, smirking. "I mean, you're definitely welcome in my bed, I just thought you might want your own space after the day you've had."
</p>
<p>Usually when you have days like this you seal yourself away from your family, but things are different with Ben. Things are always different with Ben.
</p>
<p>You scrunch your face and make grabby hands at Ben as your answer. Ben wrinkles his nose back at you and pulls himself off the couch, and you both move to his room, but halfway there he intercepts you and throws you over his shoulder.
</p>
<p>You flail dramatically until he tosses you on your back onto his bed and climbs on top of you and you shiver because his movements are predatory in the best way.
</p>
<p>He stops, though, at kissing the tip of your nose. "Do you want this?"
</p>
<p><i>You appreciate the fuck out of him.</i>
</p>
<p>"Yeah," you say, still deliberating in your head, "but not too much tonight."
</p>
<p>Ben pecks your lips. "I've got you, boo."
</p>
<p>You sigh contentedly as he walks himself down your body and starts to pull his boxers from your hips.

</p>
<p>***
</p>
<p>The next day finds you in Ben's clothes again, putting down your knitting after hours to go find him. You've barely seen him since you woke.
</p>
<p>You hear his voice from his bedroom, not the recording room, and go to investigate—only to hear another voice, and then a third.
</p>
<p>You peer past the doorway to see his laptop open on the desk. His back is to you, and over his shoulder you can see the screen of his laptop. A bald man and a girl, looking to be about ten or eleven, peer back at Ben.
</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Ben’s saying. “I’m all good here, I’m lucky enough that my job can be done entirely indoors, you know? I’ll be okay. What about you guys?”
</p>
<p>“Oh, don’t worry about us.” the man says. “We have enough savings to get by on.”
</p>
<p>He’s skyping his family.
</p>
<p>You don’t know much about Ben’s childhood. He doesn’t talk about it often. You know something happened to make him hate water, and that he’d been adopted by a Dr. Slen D. Erman, who was a child psychologist. Most of his friends growing up were former patients of Dr. Erman’s, actually, though he only really keeps in contact with one of them these days.
</p>
<p>You study the screen as Ben talks to his father and little sister—you recall her being named Sally, and that she was adopted as well.
</p>
<p>You can’t help the smile that comes to your face as Sally talks to Ben. She reminds you of Charles, a little, with similar big green eyes to betray her kindness to the world around her. The chances of her having a kind soul are one in seven, though, and eye color isn’t typically an indicator. It was for you and your siblings, but that was because you had <i>magic</i>, and that had been lost to humans for hundred of years. It had even been uncommon when you were born, which was why you'd encouraged your siblings to hide their magic, even as yours spun and spiraled out of control. It had been too late for you, but it wouldn't be for them.
</p>
<p>Sally leans closer to the screen, looming and nearly cutting her father out of view, which brings you out of your reverie. “Ben? Who’s that behind you?”
</p>
<p>You start and quickly duck behind the wall separating Ben’s bedroom from the hallway, too late to avoid detection, but you’re sure your overreaction made a good show, because Sally giggles.
</p>
<p>“Ah, that’s just Chara.” Ben tells her. “They’re my friend. They’re staying with me during the quarantine, because their family's almost all monsters and monsters have been having really bad reactions to human diseases. If Chara caught it from me and then went home and made their family sick, it would be really bad, so it’s better if they stay here.”
</p>
<p>“Oh,” Sally says, then after a beat asks, “Can we meet her?”
</p>
<p>“They,” Ben corrects. “Chara uses they/them pronouns, like your friend Jace in school.”
</p>
<p>“Oh! Okay. Well then can we meet them?”
</p>
<p>“Maybe later. They’re kinda shy. Bad things happened to them when they were small, but they never had a therapist like Dad to help them through it like we did, so they’re having a lot of trouble with being around people now that they’re all grown up.”
</p>
<p>“Oh,” Sally sighs with an understanding that you think is probably beyond her years. That’s what trauma does to a child, after all. “Well, whenever they’re ready, I wanna tell them hi.”
</p>
<p>“I’ll tell them hi for you in the meantime,” Ben agrees. You notice the smile back on your face, pushing at your cheeks, and quickly slip away to the bathroom to study it.
</p>
<p>There, in the mirror. It’s you. There’s a gentle light to your ruby eyes, softened by the little smile that pushes your permanently-flushed cheeks up.
</p>
<p>But the smile fades as you stare at yourself. You’ve always looked too feminine for your tastes; you could pass for a boy if you tried, if you bothered with makeup and contour, but you’ve never had the patience to get good at it—even if you didn’t hate the way it felt on your face anyway.
</p>
<p>You’re <i>pretty</i>. That’s probably the worst part; you know, on a conscious level, that you’re appealing to the eye. You have high cheekbones and large eyes, ringed generously by eyelashes. Your cheeks are stained by natural blush, always, but the rest of your skin is fair. Not as pale as Ben’s, and not as dark as you can get in the summer when you garden, but even that is significantly paler than Frisk’s tawny coloring. Your hair is a cool kind of red-brown auburn color—Asriel had found a colored pencil called “mahogany” that, when used lightly, almost looked just like your hair. It was fluffed up from it’s natural hint of curl, roughly chin-length, but when it’s straightened it all hangs midway down your neck and you can tie some of it back so the rest frames your face in a way you like. Your lips aren’t quite full, but they’re plump enough. And right now they’re tilted up in a forced mockery of a grin.
</p>
<p>Your fake smile is convincing enough to fool anyone who hasn’t seen your real one. You used to wear it all the time on the surface, and still do around strangers. You wore it when you met Ben for the first time. You wore it near constantly when you first fell down; to mask the pain of recovery, to hide your thoughts, to be polite. It was when Azzy had drawn you two playing in the gardens that you’d smiled for real for the first time, and ever since, he’d thought your fake smile creepy. He’d ask you to put it on to scare him. It was a trend that continued with everyone else who’d seen your real smile—as soon as they had, they realized your fake smile was all wrong, and they hated it.
</p>
<p>You hate it too. You let it drop from your face, and resume your default expression—which looks… less than pleased.
</p>
<p>You run into Ben on your way back to the living room, whose face lights up when he sees you.
</p>
<p>“Hey you,” he grins. “I had an idea a bit ago—how would you feel about playing through all the Zelda games with me? We could make it into a Quarantine Special Series.”
</p>
<p>You think it over. “Sounds fun, actually.”
</p>
<p>“Fuck yeah!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Confessions in the Dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You wake up very slowly that night. Your dream, which you don't remember, starts to meld with the noises leaking into your consciousness, and then with your surroundings, until you're blinking blearily in bed.
</p><p>You wince, the light from Ben's handheld console game too bright, even as dim as he'd adjusted it.
</p><p>"What're you doing?" Your voice is thick with sleep and your lips are lazy, slurring your words, but Ben seems to understand you anyway.
</p><p>"Hey boo," he says, pausing the game and setting it aside. "Did I wake you?"
</p><p>You don't answer, just slide closer to him and lay your arm over his chest as you tuck your head against his collarbone. He wraps both of his arms back around you, trailing one hand down your bare back and back up your spine. He kisses the top of your head, and you're too tired to acknowledge or care that this entire situation is a little too intimate for friends.
</p><p>"Can sleep?" You ask, misspeaking, but too out of it to correct yourself.
</p><p>Ben understands you, somehow. "Yeah, I couldn't sleep. Figured I'd see what progress I could make in my game."
</p><p>"Mm," you respond, and slid your hand down his stomach. "'M sure I could help tire you out."
</p><p>Ben catches your wrist instead and brings your hand back up. He presses his lips to your palm.
</p><p>"You never turn down a handjob," you question, lifting your head.
</p><p>"You're barely awake." Ben pokes your forehead with your own fingers. "You can't have sex when you're asleep."
</p><p>You stick out your tongue, though you know he's right. When he releases your wrist you rub your thumb against his collarbone. "There anything I can do to help you fall asleep?"
</p><p>"You got a lullaby for me?" Ben asks, and you hear the teasing smile in his voice.
</p><p>"Mm," you tell him. "How does that Zelda lullaby go?"
</p><p>You hum a few notes, but Ben laughs a little and corrects you. "That's the Song of Healing."
</p><p>"Well it's the one I remember, so it's the one you're getting." You halfheartedly poke his shoulder and continue with the song. After a few rounds you're more awake and bored with humming, and Ben doesn't seem any sleepier either.
</p><p>You sit up and stretch, popping your back. "Can you think of anything you wanna do?"
</p><p>You feel Ben's hand on your lower back, finger splayed out. You relax into the touch, but then he moves so he's tracing something with his fingers.
</p><p>You realize what with a jolt and lean forward, pulling your thighs to your chest.
</p><p>"How did you get scars like that?" He asks you. "It looks almost like you were whipped."
</p><p>You press your lips together so tight your teeth bite into the part that roll into your mouth. Ben sits up, and you turn your face away from him.
</p><p>"By being hated by a lot of people." You reply curtly. You don't want to look at Ben. You don't want to see the concern in his eyes, don't want to deal with his words of pity. You've told him the bare minimum of what happened to you for that exact reason. You two had an unspoken agreement; you don't ask about his childhood, he doesn't ask about yours. You hang out, you sleep together, you leave.
</p><p>But… it <i>is</i> dark. Everything's easier in the dark. Everyone's vulnerable in the dark. And the normal rules have been thrown out of the window by the quarantine.
</p><p>"I was born…" you start, and then hesitate.
</p><p>"So was I." Ben says, and it's just enough humor to loosen the ball of anxiety at the base of your throat. You laugh a little, still facing away from him, and pull the blanket up to your chest. You're still naked, but he is too, and that helps.
</p><p>"I was born on September ninth, in nineteen ninety nine." You tell him.
</p><p>"That's…" Ben pauses. "Chara, that's over two hundred years ago."
</p><p>"I know." You tell him. "This is going to be a long story."
</p><p>You're both silent for a moment, you waiting for an indication from Ben to keep talking and Ben doing… something.
</p><p>The room lights up a little, and goes dark again. "It's one twenty three in the morning. We've got time."
</p><p>You let out a breath that's half sob in relief. You nod and take a deep breath and wrap your arms around yourself. "I grew up in a small town at the base of Mount Ebott. We were really far from other towns. No one else wanted to be near the mountain monsters were sealed under. Our town dealt with it by vehemently hating monsters, instead of being afraid of them. So when my magic manifested, they were disgusted with me. The town. Not my parents. My parents loved me. It was just… everyone else I knew. In school the other kids would push me over, and the teachers would stare and do nothing."
</p><p>"Jesus," Ben hissed.
</p><p>"Yeah." You laugh dryly. "They called me a demon, and a witch. They said I wasn't human, but some kind of monster spawn. A disease. A curse on the town from the devil, because my parents turned away from God or some bullshit. I have six younger siblings. They all had magic too, but I helped them hide it. They were alienated for being in our family, but everyone thought they were normal, so they were mostly left alone. We didn't have a lot of food. We couldn't grow anything for ourselves, and whenever we bought groceries the grocers demanded way more than they charged everyone else. I gave up a lot of meals so my siblings could eat."
</p><p>"Chara…"
</p><p>"There was this wildflower field between the mountain about our town." You continue, as if Ben hadn't spoken. The floodgates were open; you couldn't stop if you wanted to. "I liked to spend my free time there, because no one ever wanted to get that close to the mountain. I'd hang out in the buttercup patch. They were my favorites. One day, this guy came up to me though. His name was Jeremiah. He was the preacher's son."
</p><p>Your stomach turns. You think Ben says something, but you can't hear him. "He said I was disgusting, that I wasn't a human, that I should kill myself, or climb up the mountain and get eaten by my fellow monsters, that it would serve me right. You know, the normal stuff. Then he said I should be grateful he was paying any attention to me at all. He pinned me down. He tried to kiss me. I bit him, really hard, and he hit me, and my vision went fuzzy. I started panicking. When he started pulling my pants off, my magic reacted."
</p><p>You could see it. Knives as red as blood materializing in the air, extracting his soul, slicing through it. His cries of agony, stumbling away from you and falling to the ground as you pulled your pants back up, sobbing. The run through town, back home. You swallow thickly.
</p><p>"I didn't kill him. I ran home. I told my mama I was attacked, and what happened, and she said it was okay, they would explain the next day. But that night a crowd showed up at our door. My papa shoved me into the coat closet—it had those slats, so I could see out, so it wasn't that great of a hiding place, but it was the quickest option. They asked where I was. My dad said I wasn't home. They said they'd wait until I did, and occupy themselves in the meantime. They grabbed my dad, and they pushed my mom to the ground. They woke up my little siblings. I couldn't… just let that happen. I couldn't sit there and watch and let them… I ran out of the closet. I said if they wanted me, they had to come and get me, and I took off. They chased me up the mountain. There was this hole in the ground. I figured that would be a quicker and less painful death than whatever they had in mind, so I jumped."
</p><p>You take a deep breath, your lungs shuddering, and pause to wipe the wetness from your cheeks. Ben's hand lands gently on your back again, but almost hesitantly, like he'll be willing to pull away if you ask him. You turn your head towards him to give him a quick smile, grateful for his support, and then prop your forehead on your knees.
</p><p>"I didn't die." You continue. "I broke my leg, my arm, and a few ribs, but I didn't die. I passed out for a while, but when I woke up, I was… I couldn't just lay there and die. I figured someone would hear me, help me. I called out for help. Asriel heard me. He was snail hunting in the ruins. He supported me and guided me through the entire ruins, holding my good arm over his shoulders. I was sixteen. He was about ten. I was terrified. I'd heard all the stories the villagers told about monsters, and every monster around stared at us as we passed, but they all looked scared of me, too. He brought me all the way from the Ruins to New Home, where his parents—the King and Queen—helped nurse me back to health. Everything here's kind of fuzzy. It had a lot to do with the old royal scientist, Gaster, but he was erased from existence, so my memories that feature him are… off. But I got better. I got adopted. I learned to knit. I wrote songs for my new family. I accidentally poisoned my dad. He got better. And then I had an idea."
</p><p>You shrug Ben's hand off, now, having reached your limit for being touched. You laugh back down and stare at the ceiling. "The prophecy said an angel would come from the surface and free the monsters. Everyone assumed that was me. So I thought … it takes a being with a powerful soul to get through the barrier, and then seven human souls to break it. I thought if Azzy took my soul when I died, he could get through, and together we'd be strong enough to kill six other humans, and then we could free everyone. But Azzy didn't have the guts. He was too sweet to fight back. He made it to the throne room before we died. His ashes and the buttercup seeds on his clothes covered the floor. And Gaster stole my soul to power the Core, which powered the Underground.
</p><p>"After that," you swallow. "You know most everything. My mom left my dad and took my body and buried me where I fell, and the flower seeds on my corpse's clothes grew buttercups that cushioned the fall for the seven other humans, all of whom eventually died except Frisk. Alphys injected determination into one of the throne room flowers, with Azzy's essence, and became Flowey. Frisk came along, there were Saves and Resets and I followed them around and after so many repetitions they freed my soul and brought Flowey up, and something about my saving of my soul brought me back to life and something about the surface helped Azzy regrow his soul. But that's not the full story."
</p><p>"What was left out?" Ben asks. His voice is careful, like he doesn't want to set you into a panic by letting his unease be audible.
</p><p>"Gaster." You reply. "I woke up a little when Mom took me out of my coffin. I saw Sans talking to Gaster, asking what he used to power the Core when nothing else had been powerful enough. Gaster told him about my soul, Sans was disgusted, and we both were so… enraged. It was easy to just… slip into him. And push. And then there was no Gaster and never had been a Gaster. Until… I don't know. Several hundred Resets. Frisk unsettled the timeline enough for Gaster to slip through from the void for long enough for Sans and I to remember about my soul. Then we got it back from the Core. Something about the effect of powering the Core and the reunition of my soul with my spirit and my determination gave me a body, and I was alive again. And then we all came to the surface. And then four years passed. And now here we are."
</p><p>Ben flops into bed beside you. There's a silence as you wait for him to say something, and he processes everything you said.
</p><p>He takes a deep breath. "My dad killed my mom right in front of me. I think I was three. I'm not sure. Those memories were repressed for a really long time. But I started remembering them, and I guess it was obvious. When I was ten he tried to drown me in the creek behind our house. A couple hunters following a deer followed the noises and stopped him. Slen—my adoptive father—he handled my case. Then he adopted me, and was my therapist. I still hate water, but at least I can have more than an inch at a time in my cup without being uncomfortable."
</p><p>Your hand slides over the sheets and finds his. His hand flips over to hold yours, fingers intertwined. You can almost feel his pulse through his palm, or maybe that's yours, or both, but either way, you feel… connected to him.
</p><p>"I can't imagine," you tell him, "what that must have been like."
</p><p>"What, drowning?"
</p><p>"No. Parental abuse. My parents have always been my sheilds. If I lost that support…"
</p><p>"Yeah, well," Ben chuckles dryly. "<i>I</i> can't imagine what it must have been like to have your entire community against you. That was my biggest source of support."
</p><p>You turn to him, laying on your side. He mirrors you. Your eyes have adjusted enough to the dark to see his, the prettiest shade of blue you've ever seen and so <i>soulful</i>.
</p><p>You do the only thing you can think to do. You cup his face and kiss him.
</p><p>It's the kind of kiss that isn't rushed, or rough, but the kind that speaks. The kind that says <i>I'm sorry that happened to you</i>, and <i>you deserved so much better</i>, and <i>thank you for trusting me with your story</i>, and <i>thank you for listening to</i> my <i>story.
</i></p><p>Ben kisses you back immediately, holding you and pulling your body flush against his. It's the kind of kiss that says <i>you're safe with me</i>, and <i>I will never judge you for the decisions you had to make</i>, and <i>thank you for trusting me</i>, and <i>thank you for listening to me</i>, and <i>I love you</i>.
</p><p>And you know it. That he's in love with you. You've known it for a long time, but neither of you acknowledge it, because you don't know how to feel about him.
</p><p>You care about him, deeply, in a way that's different than how you care about your family,  but no more or less important. But you've never been in love before. And you don't know if this is what it feels like. And you don't know if you're in a place where you can love someone right now, or if you're just going to fuck him and yourself up more by trying it.
</p><p>
But for tonight, you give him every part of you, and just for a little bit, you just might love him back.
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Indefinite Hiatus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hey<br/>
</p><p>Sorry to my one reader who was interested in this fic and any future readers who view this out of curiosity. My boyfriend, who'd been serving as my inspiration and basis for Ben's personality, ghosted me April 3rd and only today sent me a message that said that we can't talk anymore and he wishes me the best. He then immediately blocked me. I might come back to this one day when the bitterness wears off, because it's still a really cool ship even if it's weird as fuck, but that's not gonna be soon.<br/>
</p><p>Thanks,<br/>
</p><p>Star</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>